


Pen Pal

by Lulu5763



Category: Gerard Way - Fandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anger, F/M, Multi, Pen Pals, gerard way - Freeform, insane, killer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 08:39:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16322909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lulu5763/pseuds/Lulu5763
Summary: A short horror story





	Pen Pal

Dear Eleanor,

I feel like I can confide in you. I hope I'm not overstepping my boundaries with you, but there's something I just need to get off of my chest. You've been a good friend to me these last few months; despite our never meeting face to face. I found it very hard to write this to anyone other than you, and I'm hoping you'll understand.

First, let me start by saying that what I have done was not without reason. Although, I'm sure my reasons won't be accepted by many, if any. I know I can count on you, though.

I was given permission, well, permission might not be the right word; they told me to do it. It's not the first time they've spoken to me and told me to do things. Most of the time they offer random, inconsequential advice on where to go or what to have on the menu. They usually speak to me at a point of indecision which I must admit has been somewhat helpful. I welcome the small interruptions of insanity. Rest assure, that's not to say I've forgotten who I am.

I'm not sure how much of my personal distresses I've mentioned before, honestly. It's nothing I'm too proud of. I understand that my anger issues will never be fully resolved. It's just who I am; nothing satisfies. I can find no peace in anything....other than talking to you, of course. Admittedly, I am a hardened cynic with no confidence in anyone, and I tend to just crawl through each day with flip outs every so often. Usually, a loud scream in a baron area does the trick, but I'm not afforded such a luxury at the moment.

The hardest thing for me is keeping my episodes from my daughter, Bandit. I don't want her to see me like this. Never.

As you know my mother has been living with me since my brother's passing. The loss was tragic enough, and to endure mom's slow decline into senility has become too much to bear. I'm allowed no concentration or room to think.

My life, as I know it, is over. I don't deserve this, do I?

Many times I would stand beside her while she sat in his favorite reclining chair, rotting. ROTTING in that chair! I guess the feel of something near to him was a comfort to her. She never moved, never made a sound, just would stare at the TV all day. I scarcely think she was even watching it half the time. Everything around her ceased to exist. Even the joys of her grand-daughter, my daughter, her little Bandit wouldn't merit a reaction.

I finally confronted her, but my pleas were unheard. Could you believe that? She just stared right through me as if I wasn't even there. It hurt; really badly. I've reached the end of my rope.

Yesterday, I had attempted to fix my car, something I had put off for some time. I think I had told you about my alternator in my last letter to you. Anywho, the volume on the TV was so loud I felt the speakers might blow out. I was in the garage behind the house, and I could hear it clear as day. Clearly, she had moved. She had the remote, and she turned it all the way up. In my head, I only thought this was done to intentionally irritate me. With my tools in hand, I approached mom and asked her if she was okay again, and again - still nothing. I finally felt my madness welling.

I let go of my tool bag and let the weight of the metal fall hard onto the ground. It caused a clatter that was ear shattering. It hurt me, but I didn't want to miss any flinch she might've given. I stifled the pain, gritting my teeth, remembering then Bandit was still upstairs. Her door was closed, but she heard it. I know she did.

There was a point of several seconds I can't recall. The next thing I remember is hearing them say to me "go back," and I was standing over my mother holding the hammer in such a way it felt more like a weapon than a tool. A wave of calm came over me until I realized what I had done. The claw end of the hammer was embedded in my mother's head.

In my mind, I had not done this, but all accounts will say I did. Whatever illusions, or feelings I had, had disappeared. My shock gave way to worry thinking now of my precious Bandit, and how I couldn't allow her to see this. I wish they would speak to me now, I could use the advice.

I had gotten to her door upstairs just as she was coming out. I don't know if she had noticed my hysterics at the time, but I quickly moved her back into her bedroom. I could see she was worried, but my efforts to calm her only seemed to confuse her further, and she began to cry. She grew more and more upset until I could no longer hold her still. All I could do was hug her. I did so tightly until she finally was quiet, and still. She will understand what happened, one day. One day, I'll be able to tell her what had happened and why it was the decent thing to do. It was for the both of us.

She's been sleeping since yesterday. I think it might be the stress she's under. Having lost her mother just two years ago in a car accident, and now, her grandmother? That's a lot for a little girl to take in. Even now, sitting next to her now, writing this, I'm finding it difficult to cope.

I managed to stand a moment ago, the first time in hours and I noticed that the house is as quiet as it's ever been. Even my head, quiet - they're gone, and I once again find myself at a crossroads. So often they have come to help me; however I feel they've abandoned me. Before I came back to finish this letter I stood in the middle of the room crying. I felt lost, I guess I still do.

I think soon I'll wake Bandit and take her downstairs, and the three of us will have one last meal together before I bring mom to her house. As far as I know it hasn't been sold yet. It was my parents' home for almost fifty years; I know she'll like it there. I figure after, I'll pack up Bandit's things for her and head out.

By the time you get this I'll already be on my way. I just need a friend - someone to talk to me, you know. I would really love to meet you face to face, and you can even meet my daughter! I've told her all about you. I hope it's not too much to ask. Until then, best wishes!

Your friend,

Gerard Arthur Way

***

It had been a year since Eleanor began her correspondence with Gerard. This was the twelfth letter in the exchange, and it read like none other she had received before. Needless to say, Eleanor found it rather disturbing, not exactly sure how to deal with such an unexpected and graphic confession.

Soon after the initial shock had finally subsided, it suddenly became apparent that she might be in considerable danger. Immediately, a surge of terror welled up within her, and Eleanor found herself trying to recall the conditions of all her windows and doors of the house. It was a pleasantly warm fall evening, and she had remembered there were two windows open upstairs. The sliding back door to the deck was open and the front door was open allowing a nice breeze through. However, the words she had read sent a chill through her body that would not subside.

Could he really be on his way here?!

One thing Eleanor was certain of is that Gerard would not be at his home, and with no picture, all there was was an address and her concerns. She found it hard to convince herself that the police would take the matter seriously. But still, she set her phone atop of the letter thinking that might be a course of action to consider later. Right now, she felt it more pertinent to recheck all the doors and windows.

Eleanor hurried upstairs and closed the window in the bathroom and the one in her daughter's bedroom, locking them both. While she drew the blinds in her daughter's room, she left the bathroom's cracked a bit, just enough to get a clear view of the front yard and the driveway. Nothing was out of the ordinary from what she could see; only the occasional car passing by. Eleanor moved downstairs.

It was disappointing to her, feeling that she had to box herself in like this. The act of fortifying the house made her feel, in a sense, insecure and afraid. Being the only one in the house it was understandable, but to her it was a shot to her confidence. They were here to enjoy life, not to isolate themselves from society. Taking one more look around outside, front and back, Eleanor felt safe enough and left the doors open, locking only the screen doors on both.

Daylight was fading fast, so Eleanor returned to the kitchen and picked up her phone to text her daughter. She knew Sadie was out with friends, probably for the night, but she only wanted to know she was okay:

"HEY HONEY, HOW'S THINGS GOING? YOU NEED ANYTHING?"

Something simple; the question was genuine, however, Eleanor was more so baiting her for a response. With her phone in hand, she once again laid eyes on the letter, and again the thought of calling the police crossed her mind. Soon after she put the matter to rest, tucking the pages into the corner drawer, filing them with the other letters she'd received from Gerard; a pile of friendly communiques now looked like a stack of evidence. Finally, she convinced herself she might be overreacting and shut the drawer and put the matter out of mind.

After all this, she felt she could use a drink and retrieved a beer from the refrigerator. As the door swung shut, so could a car door shut be heard outside. At this point she was familiar with the resonance of the area and could tell if someone was in her driveway or a neighbor, or just on the street. A quick glance through the blinds confirmed it, though. Someone was here. The motion sensor light over the garage had been tripped.

A late model marron Oldsmobile, a car she hadn't seen before had parked closely behind her car. A tall thin man, young looking with short black hair and a trimmed beard emerged from the driver's side, he too was unfamiliar. The man made a quick survey of the surrounding area before opening the back door. He appeared to be struggling with something, trying to heft it out from the back seat. It was then the same wave of terror took control of her body. The possibility had suddenly become more probable, yet she still found it hard to accept the notion of such an extreme situation. At odds with herself, Eleanor didn't know whether to confront her visitor or call the police. Standing close to the counter, she watched, as still as she could to not draw any attention to herself.

The man pulled out a large object wrapped in a white floral pattern blanket. At first glance, it looked like a child's blanket one might find in a crib. It seemed heavy as the man had to reset the weight in his arms several times. He eventually cradled it like a small child that was asleep. Eleanor couldn't see what it was, but the fear was overwhelming and the assumption was prevalent. While the light of the kitchen no doubt gave her away through the open blinds, she remained frozen and watching as the man walked behind the wall, out of view for a moment before his steps could be heard thumping on the porch. They ceased, and Eleanor held her breath in the silence. For a moment she could sense him leering through the screen before she heard the man wrap gently on the door...

KNOCK-KNOCK!

 

Author's note: I haven't decided whether I want to split this up into different parts and continue or not. That will depend on your feedback and whether you like the story or not... Please, let me know wht you think. Thank you for reding.


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